Drasty rym dogerel, 31/05/2011

An Ode to Mistress Ayn Rand

O, give not out of charity,
Of that you must beware,
Creating for all parity,
By cutting your fair share.

O, do not give your wealth, my son!
That way does madness lie,
For there you'll lose all we have won,
And there our power will die.

Beware the sharers-out-for-all,
They'll rob you for your worth,
And give your wealth to City Hall,
To finance talent's dearth.

Now keep yourself from charity,
Be sure your balances to fatten,
Run like the plague from parity,
From you old dad, signed: Satan.

Notebook from Nowhere, 26/05/2011

[N.B.: Owing to a Noteable Lack of Material Posted in these Last Weeks, Yr Humble Scribe, by way of Small Recompense, does this Week present Two Notebooks from Nowhere, this One appearing earlier than its usual date.]

some villages have cheese-rolling, others the soul cake, and some few have peculiar and quaint derivations of ancient pagan custom. Few, however, with the notable exception of Little Quinisext, engage in competitive art manifesto-writing, however.  The sport’s unique popularity in these parts is generally put down to the influence of Old Ned Grumble, the local avant-garde painter and part-time cannibal, who has, for the last thirty-eight years, lived in a dilapidated studio just inside the grounds of the dilapidated Smale Manor. Old Ned began manifesto-writing in 1981, with his first art manifesto, Pederasty is the Triumph of Civilisation, which was widely interpreted as an attack on Thatcherism. The six-inch white, plastic cube was covered in news stories relating to the plight of birds of prey in the British Isles. It was his 1993 manifesto, Squall, however, which brought him notoriety when part of it – a photograph of seven dead bees on a page of blank musical staves – appeared in the background of a picture in The Daily Excess of Tracy Emin. The competition began soon after, and for the last eighteen years has been judged by Old Ned in the village hall on the feast of St. Dunstan. This year’s winning entrant, Newsletter of the Society For the Embalming of Zsa Zsa Gabor was written by Dr Hentwither, the village’s resident dyspeptic classicist, as single German compound word, in the form of  a gerund, on no fewer than 61 beermats from the local pub. Old Ned described the entry as “just magnificent”.

*

the much wyttring half-marathon has been cancelled at the last moment for the third month in a row, owing to an inauspicious alignment of the planets. Mrs Agrippinilla Jones-Hargreave,  who was elected leader of the Annual Half-Marathon Steerage Committee for this year, explained that owing to a “minor miscalculation”, the marathon could not take place next Tuesday as agreed,  as the conjunction of Io and Deimos would leave local ley-lines charged with negative energies “likely to cause a breach of the peace”.  Mrs Jones-Hargreave is also head of the local neighbourhood watch. 

Drasty rym dogerel, 25/05/2011

Ode to A Most Exuberant Hand

O fulsome curlicue most round,
O gladsome sight in antique hand,
Grant that our hand with swirls abound,
And that our words may yet expand.

O ornament most handsome,
O lettering sublime,
Thou other scripts do ransom,
And all words now refine.

Notebook from Nowhere, 24/05/2011

BBC Scurvy staff have already run into problems with their latest attempt to engage with the public, entitled “The Big Metaphor”.  The scheme, launched just two weeks ago, is an attempt to follow-up the success of the national part of the BBC’s “Big Read”, and other such non-events. The Nerdley branch, however, ran into trouble with the idea with a series of adverts describing “The Big Metaphor” as “Like our very own song”, “Like the sweet smell of a free country”, “Like brilliance”, and so forth, alongside pictures of sunny afternoons and wealthy, London-based BBC presenters. Locals remain baffled as to what the event is about, however.  Ms Marjorem K Kalypso, a resident of Little Quinisext, said the event was “poorly considered”, and “lacking in sufficient consultation and review prior to release to the wider public”. Ms Kalypso, who chairs the Parish of St John the Apostate’s Non-Executive Pastoral Review Council Liturgical Subcommittee, added that the idea was “insufficiently pastoral”, and “likely to alarm or distress residents unduly”.

A new trick, for the politician whose tried ‘em all, has been developed by Cllr Marvin Squint of the Much Wyttring Council. Cllr Squint was recently accused of embezzling nearly £350,000 of council funds, diverting preferential contracts to friends, and selling the same refrigerator to no fewer than sixteen Inuit. Cllr Squint, appearing before Mr Justice Snipewhistle at Tunsley court last Tuesday, Cllr Squint attempted to excuse himself on grounds of religious observance. As a member of the Ayn Rand First Reformed Church of Mammon, Cllr Squint explained, grandiose personal greed was a moral obligation placed on him by his religious beliefs. He was, he stressed, deeply upset to be forced by his beliefs to buy a row of houses in the Cote d’Azure, and he assured His Honour that he had only spent six weeks staying in one of the houses last August in order to ensure that his investment was still in good condition. Mr Justice Snipewhistle, responding via video-link from the Bahamas, informed Cllr Squint that, unless fresh... er, evidence were to be sent to him immediately, he would be forced to find Cllr Squint guilty of all charges.

The wheel of fashion turns, and unto each there is a season eventually. As 1980s fashions and the three-piece suit return, however, it is important to remember that the wheel always has further to turn. Fashionistas and experts all agree, though, that now is the time to start saving for the return of a fashion which some think has been too long in abeyance: yes, dear readers, it is time to start saving up for a new, full-bottomed periwig.

Drasty rym dogerel, 23/05/2011

The Tale of Sir Gilbert, Part II

Then riding brightly through the glen -
Sir Gilbert and his merry men,
With colours mixing green and gold,
Flutt'ring in the breeze so bold.

Their pauldrons were all gleaming bright,
Their feathers all a cheerful sight,
Three-score minstrels in company,
And all in bright, jocund array.

They came then quickly to the towns,
One and all wore flower-crowns,
And bells rang in their visit sweet,
And once more rang their swift exit.

And as they bid a warm adieu,
Each town did go from grey to hue,
And brillain with such colours gay,
Chased fast the powers of night away.

They spread their joy with bright display,
At towns and castles on the way,
And unto Night brought timely Day,
And unto Evil, Good repay.

Drasty rym dogerel, 21/05/2011

On the House of Commons
After Swinburne; created upon the Occasion of Mr CLEGG's war on the noble Lords of Parliament.

Cold eyes that hide like a jewel
Hard thoughts that grow soft on the tongue;
The heavy, thick lies, and the cruel
Red sins that stain old and young;
When these are gone, past into fading,
What shall rest of thee then, what remain,
O place now magic, now degrading,
Our House of Champagne?

Seven sorrows the priests give their Virgin,
But they sins, which are seventy times seven,
Seven ages have leapt thro' like sturgeon,
To make for thyself a sweet heaven;
Fierce midnights and famishing morrows,
And the power that loves complete control,
All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows
That wear out the soul.

O garment not golden but gilded,
O garden where few men may dwell,
O House not of us but rebuilded,
By hands that are few and known well;
O mire of the mystical rose,
O house not of gold, but of gain,
O place of the liar's repose,
Our House of Champagne!

Of yesterday's reach and to-morrow's,
They think not as they lie for today,
There have been and there yet shall be sorrows
That shall smite all but them in their play.
The Life and the love thou despisest -
These bring to you but little gain,
O fools among greedy, most foolish,
Our House of Champagne.

Drasty rym dogerel, 17/05/2011

The Tale of Sir Gilbert, Part I

The times were impropitious,
And the augurs told of gloom,
And the Powers were all vicious,
And the paupers at their doom.

The rulers all were evil,
And the days were turned to night,
And the powers of the Devil,
Did increase the whole land's plight.

And the country was in chaos,
And the rich on poor men spat,
And the sovereign did not govern,
And the knights were all grown fat.

So the people in the country
Slipped quick into despair,
For they could not trust the Gentry,
Nor the Churchmen who were there.

Drasty rym dogerel, 16/05/2011

[N.B.: Yr Most Humble Scribe doth beg Forgiveness for the but Slow & Lacking service of late upon This Blog, & by way of Small Recompense, offers the following Drasty Dogerel.]

In Praise of Bureaucrats

"I don't deal with your type, I fear,

It's not my job, you see;

But it's been the job of Mandy here

Since 1993."

It's not my job,

It's not for you

To ask such things of me;

Why, silly clot,

You talk such rot,

It's YOUR fault,

don't you see?

"Now have you got a P8-K?

You'll want to use the phone."

Admitting no defeat, I say

That it got left at home.

It's not my job,

It's not for you

To ask such things of me;

Why, silly clot,

You talk such rot,

It's YOUR fault,

don't you see?

"The smear test's just an option,

But also compulsory;

We need to know quite where you've been

And stuck yourself, you see?"

It's not my job,

It's not for you

To ask such things of me;

Why, silly clot,

You talk such rot,

It's YOUR fault,

don't you see?

"I can't deal with you just right now,

But if you'll bear with me,

Young Doreen here (the silly cow)

Will get you some nice tea.

Drasty rym dogerel, 09/05/2011

[N.B. Yr humble scribe brings this short mediaeval text for yr edification. This brief poem is found in the Complutensian Sacramentary, thought to have been compiled in the mid-13th Century, where it is listed as the Collect for today's Mass. The cult of the Virgin of Spain is otherwise obscure. Evidently it was equally so in antic periods - this text is attested only in the above Tome, and shows but poor handiwork in its Construction, being an obvious & Inelegant translation from the Demotic.]

O Domina Hispaniae


Adoro te devote, O Domina Hispaniae:
E prima nocte vidi te,
cor meum desideratum tibi:
Domina Hispaniae, adoro te.

Oro tibi, O Domina Hispaniae:
cur labia mea abscondant,
omnia quid oculi mei revelant?
Domina Hispaniae, adoro te.

Notebook from Nowhere, 08/05/2011

Others may have been out enjoying fine English weather, but not so the universally-feared editrix-at-large of Much Wyttring’s second-most-successful newspaper, Phoebe Green. “CASH FOR PRINCES SCANDAL”, screamed the front page of The Wyttrer, while a stinging editorial tore into the Royal family (a “nest of the indolent, the in-bred, and the obnoxious”, funded by “the ever-expanding misery of those crushed between the wheels of Britain’s military-industrial complex”), the government (“the rapacious and the ridiculous, stuffing their pockets with the savings of our grandmothers”), the Duchess of Cambridge (“a furious social-climber whose Tory cash-cow parents offered the perfect entree to the world of power she has craved for so long”), Pippa Middleton (a “grinning moron, whose pearly-white dress perfectly matches the whitewash of her own sordid past”), and, at much length, the “grinningly imbecilic” and “fanatically royalist” unwashed lumpenproletariat of Much Wyttring.

Long term Green-watchers say that this is a new high, both in the level of invective and the number of people libelled in a single column.  Indeed, the only column in recent memory by Ms Green even close to this one was that of the 15^th March 2009, which, among other things, attacked all the major political parties, seven archbishops, fourteen mayors, seven heads of state, and, at considerable length, her sister. Ms Green, a prominent member of the Much Wyttering branch of the Leninist Baking Front, was unavailable for comment.

***

Dr Norman Quince, the famed discoverer of the Spanish Guitar Beetle, has once again been charged with contempt of court, wasting police time, causing a breach of the peace, and six counts of inciting religious and racial hatred. Dr Quince was arrested by West Scurvy police force after repeatedly heckling members of the congregation at St John the Apostate in Little Quinisext, before attempting to place the new Papal nuncio to Great Britain, Archbishop Mennini, under citizen’s arrest, on grounds of heresy, treason, witchcraft and praemunire, the last of which, a mediaeval law against any power attempting to override the supremacy of the monarch, was abolished by the Criminal Law Act 1967, for Britain’s admission into the EEC.

Archbishop Mennini had been visiting St John the Apostate for a confirmation service, and is said to have been ‘surprised, but otherwise unharmed’ by aides.  Although the archbishop decided not to press charges, police nevertheless arrested Dr Quince after he attempted to “borrow” four sets of handcuffs, a truncheon, and a megaphone from the Little Quinisext police station in his efforts. Dr Quince was unavailable for comment.

***

New research indicates that 33% of the internet is composed of adverts offering free laptops, mobile ‘phones, games consoles, and occasionally, cheap wives. Astounded researches at the Airhead Institute of Statistical Inutility, part of West Scurvy University, said that the findings “completely overturned previous expectations”.

Dr Kevin Smug, who led the eight-man team investigating the subject, said: “This is quite incredible. Initial estimates suggested that a mixture of pornography and adverts offering cheap tooth-whitening techniques made up the vast majority of the internet. These findings, however, shake that hypothesis to the core.”

Notebook from Nowhere, 01/05/2011

[N.B.: Yr Most Humble author begs your Indulgence for the Week’s delay in posting, owing to th’observance of the Holy Pascha.]

Renowned poetess Dame Klytemnaestra Harvey has astounded critics once again with a new performance poem which you can try at home, too. Simply invite half a dozen people ‘round for supper – friends for preference, but any acquaintances will do. Halfway through the meal, get up, take hold of the pepper shaker, and stand on your chair. Say, “you disgust me”.  Unscrew the top of the pepper shaker, and pour the pepper into your other hand. Let it slip through your fingers. Now, put the pepper shaker down, and scream as loud and as long as you can, get down from your chair and leave the room. Dame Klytemnaestra, who has also published a guide to deportment, says this is her most “profound” and “spiritual” work, but promises it will “delight and uplift even the most modest dinner-party”.

***

The case of Pentwhistle vs Nutrigon Cereal Foods, Inc. in Tunsley court drones on. The case, now into its third successive year of running, has now become so in danger of losing its original purpose – which some commentators would suggest was a somewhat strict interpretation of the Trade Descriptions Act by Mr Pentwhistle – and increasingly derives into more and more furiously-debated obscurity. In court last Friday, counsel for the prosecution Sir Augustulus Treacle QC emphasised that  tin-mining was, contrary to the defence’s position, a flourishing trade in 13^th Century Tintagel. “It is”, he said, “a wholly misleading suggestion, my lord, that the case of the Crown vs Tresgothick 1256 can have been in relation to anything other than the question of praebunire and the French market for tin.”

Mr Justice Snipewhistle, responding via video-link from the Bahamas, said that while he “fully appreciated” the prosecution’s argument, he was uncertain that a case involving the mediaeval law against aiding a foreign power could still be applicable since the European Communities Act.  Mr Pentwhistle, 55, of Much Wyttring’s Flatley Park estate, is said to be “satisfied” with the current progress of the case, and told reporters that he looked forward to the day when “insidious and misleading metaphor” has been “entirely exterminated from the English language”.